


AU-gust Stories Days 21-30

by Lost_Elf



Series: AU-gust 2020 [3]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: AU-gust 2020, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Alternate Universe - Private Detectives, Alternate Universe - Professional Rivals, Angel & Rhys' son against their fathers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Fluff and Smut, Handsome Rhys, Humor, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Plot Twists, Prompt Fill, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lost_Elf/pseuds/Lost_Elf
Summary: This is the third 10 of my AUgust stories. :) Each chapter is a different AU. Summing things up in the tags would be complicated, so I'll just list important points here for your convenience, and add detailed tags to the author's note. :)(Most recently added is bold!)21th - Professional Rivals AU - [T]een and Up, Plot<22th - Futuristic AU - [M]ature, Heavy Angst, Plot, AI Jack, Handsome Rhys, nothing is as it seems23th - Arranged Marriage AU - [E]xplicit, Farce, Comedy, Plot Twist, (Rhack) Smut24th - Private Detective AU - [E]xplicit, Angst, Feelings25th - Circus AU - coming soon!26th - Monster Hunters AU - [M]ature, Comedy, Humour, Cat-person Rhys27th - Flower Shop AU - coming soon!28th -Fashion & Models AU  - coming soon!29th - Tattoo Palor AU - coming soon!30th - Magic AU - coming soon!
Relationships: Angel & Original Male Characters, Handsome Jack & Rhys (Borderlands)
Series: AU-gust 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859482
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20
Collections: AUgust 2020





	1. Professional Rivals AU

**Author's Note:**

> **What is AUgust?**  
>  A writing challenge for anybody, inspired by ones like whumptober. I created this challenge for fun after my boyfriend asked me _Do you write AUs in August?_ My answer back then – right after _You are a freaking genius!_ – was no. Not yet. But now we do!
> 
> Already, people of various fandoms are participating, and I couldn't be happier. I brought so much angst and anguish to the fandom, but now I bring something positive, and not only to Borderlands, but to all the fandoms. If you couldn't participate this year, don't worry. You can start later or simply wait for the next year. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Teen and Up  
> Trigger Warnings: Injury  
> Additional Tags: Figure Skating, Plot, Don't Know What Else To Tag  
> Wordcount: 1994

The audience cheers loudly, chanting the name of the star that finished his dance whole five minutes ago. They seem to be uncontrollable, too excited, and the judges cannot get a word in over the chanting. In the end, they decide to give up, raising the signs with the points in the air. All of them are the maximum amount they can give. The crowd cheers even louder.

It seems that this will be another year that Handsome Jack wins. Rightfully, of course. Rhys could only watch the dance on his phone, secretly hidden in a toilet stall, but he knows. Jack is the best dancer on the planet, and when you add a costume that fits his body perfectly and is just a little more revealing than appropriate, you get a crowd of fans that lose their collective minds when he appears.

Rhys partially wishes to be there, in the audience, and lose his mind too. But there is something else he must do tonight. Putting his phone away, Rhys gets out of the stall and stops by the mirror to give himself a little pep talk.

“Hey, Rhys,” he says, giving himself a little wave. “You… can do it? You can do it. _You_ … can do it.”

It does not go very well. Rhys sighs and leaves, bumping right into his father who seems to be looking for him. The young man avoids a pep talk from his father, or any other kind of speech he might get, by dipping right into his changing room.

Two trainers, two makeup artists and one seamstress that sewed the costume on him. Thanks to them, he looks like the perfect dancer too. The perfect figure, beautiful costume (light blue, only one sleeve, so his tattoos are almost fully revealed, and because it is sewn on him, there is no visible zipper or anything that holds it up, which makes it look even more majestic). He spent the past couple years practicing four times a week. His makeup is supposed to make him look like the king of the ice kingdom.

Feeling suddenly detached, Rhys stares at the people in the room blankly. This is not where he expected his silly childhood dream to take him. But here he is.

 _“Number 24, Rhys, please proceed to the hall,”_ a numb voice distorted by static says over his head. It is his time.

“Come on, champ,” his father says with fondness in his voice, obnoxious tears in his eyes. “It is time to win!”

“I can’t win, Richard,” Rhys says but follows him through the corridor. “Handsome Jack always wins.”

“Yeah, but you can be second!” his father retorts, undeterred. Rhys would like to share at least a bit of his enthusiasm.

Number 15, the dancer before Rhys, has just received her rating and is thanking the judges. A much more live and cheery voice, but still pretty distorted, tells the audience that Rhys, the new blood, is just getting ready. He can see himself on half of the big screens, so he smiles at the nearest camera, waving.

Richard pats him on the back and one of his trainers gives him some useless last-second advice while the other ties his skates. Rhys can’t help himself but hope that something terrible will go down in the next thirty seconds and he will not have to dance, make a fool of himself. Maybe an EMP wave hits the planet and there will be no electricity. Or a tornado appears. Or a tiger escapes from the ZOO and gets into the stadium. He would take anything.

The truth is, obviously, that becoming a professional figure skater is not Rhys’ dream anymore. It was a short phase in his life. He had seen it in a movie and decided that he wants to try it. Out of all the kids in the class, he was the only one who didn’t bump into the rail on every occasion, so his father decided that he has a talent, and he will become a professional. And then it wasn’t his choice anymore.

The only good thing that came out of it was Handsome Jack. Rhys had a little crush on him from the first time he had seen him. His father would kill him if he knew, but Rhys still liked that man and never wanted to be better than him. If Richard learned the true reason why Rhys owned so many DVDs with recordings of Jack’s performances and often watched them late into the night, he would strangle him.

The cheery voice ahead announces some technical difficulties, a two minute setback. The crowd that was at least bothering to cheer a little for Rhys stops, getting to talking instead, the air buzzing with their disinterest in him. Rhys doesn’t deserve their attention, given that his father bought him his way in, and he didn’t participate in any conquest before this one, but it still hurts a little and makes him a little more nervous. He is absolutely going to make a complete fool out of himself.

There is some hassle behind him, a few choice words easily falling out of his father’s mouth, and so Rhys turns around to see who they are targeted at. But he freezes, and not because of the chill in the hall.

Never, in a billion years, would Rhys imagine Handsome Jack trying to shove past his father to get to him, but that seems to be exactly what is happening.

Richard is about to cause a scene, so Rhys carefully walks over to him and holds him back by a shoulder. “Come on, Richard, what is the problem?” he asks, barely concealing exasperation. His first meeting with Handsome Jack should have been on some after party, not as he tries to save the star from his stupidly rich and obnoxious father.

“Yeah, Richard, what is the problem?” Jack mocks. Normally, Rhys wouldn’t find that funny, but he likes the way his father’s face goes red at those word. Jack continues: “I just wanted to speak to your little star for a second. Can I?” he asks Rhys directly, not his father, and the younger man’s heart leaps at that.

“Y-yeah,” he says, trying to smile. It probably works, because Jack smiles back playfully, and then smirks when both Rhys’ trainers carefully lead Richard away from them.

Jack is already changed out of his costume, but he still looks handsome, or maybe even better now that he is wearing normal clothes. He puts a hand on Rhys’ shoulder and leads him back to the gate in the rails. As they carefully walk there, the older man in normal shoes but Rhys balancing on the blades of his skates, he asks: “Is this your first rodeo?”

“My first conquest, yeah,” Rhys admits. He has barely enough brain power to focus on walking, most of his attention going to the warm hand on his shoulder.

“Well, I would say good luck, but I know who your father is and that it wasn’t luck what got you here,” Jack chuckles, the sound washing over Rhys like pleasantly warm water. It takes him a second to realise what Jack is saying, and by the time, it is too late to deny it and not come off as desperate. Jack chuckles again and lightly squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. Unless you are actually better than me, but that’s not possible, so, yeah, your _secret_ is safe with ol’ Jack.”

“Thank you,” Rhys mutters, looking at the tips of his skates. Suddenly, he feels a rush of boldness, and he wants to tell Jack everything. That his performance today was amazing, that Rhys admires him, that he likes computer sciences more than dancing, that his father is probably not his biological father anyway – truly everything. But the technical difficulties seem to finally be over.

“Look, not much time now, so I need you to focus, Rhysie,” Jack says, suddenly sounding a little bit more serious. “Look in the middle of the ice rink, then maybe ten feet to the right.” As he speaks, he leans closer to Rhys, whose mind is stuck on being called _Rhysie_ , and points something out with a finger. “See it right there? There is a deep gash in the ice. There are more like this, there, there, and there,” he points them out one by one.

“But why are they still there?” Rhys asks, confused and nervous. “I’ve seen the—”

“Yeah, no, the maintenance crew doesn’t have enough time between performances to really take care of the ice properly. So, just be careful.” With that, Jack pats him on the back and steps away.

 _Now or never, I guess_ , Rhys says to himself. He steps on the ice, trying to imagine that he is at his usual stadium, just practicing. The crowd is just his father being very loud. The lights are not that bright. The voice in the radio is his trainer cheering him on.

The music starts playing, one of Rhys’ favourite songs. He insisted on that one. It makes him relax and the crowd go quiet. He feels for the first time like he can do it. His shoulder and back still tingle where Handsome Jack touched him.

First comes always a little bit of showing off. He needs to show the audience and the cameras how good he looks, because that is probably the only thing that makes him fit in here with the other contestants. As he skates, he carefully avoids any bump in the ice. They are all exactly where Jack pointed out, and so he is ready.

And then it goes to hell.

The choreography his trainers created for him doesn’t count in any bumps in the ice. It should still be possible to avoid them, but Rhys is no professional. As soon as he jumps in the air for the first time, spinning to the sound of gasps and applause, he knows he fucked up. He lands too close to one of the deep gashes, and he doesn’t get his feet back under control before he hits the bump, and the force sends him back into the air.

His right elbow hits the ice first, then both his legs in a tangle, and finally the rest of him. The audience gasps collectively, and Rhys’ yelp of pain is drowned out in the sound of the commentator’s voice as he urges the medical team to get on the ice.

The next few minutes blur together, and Rhys only hears a few words. _Broken_ , _broken_ , _hospital_ , _lucky if he ever gets to skate again_ , _such a pity_. He hopes he is not imagining it.

“Get back on the ice, Rhys,” his father screams, red in the face, as the boy is carried out of the hall on a stretcher. “Man up and finish this!”

“Do you know this man?” one of the medics asks him.

“No,” Rhys answers. “Please, send him away.”

“What? No, I’m his father!” Richard fights, but he is stopped by security. In the corner of his eye, Rhys sees Handsome Jack burst out laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach. The star winks at the patient when the medics walk by, his face more serious instantly as his eyes fall upon the hurt young man.

Rhys is loaded into an ambulance outside of the hall. Somehow, Jack is there again, watching it happen in bewilderment. And then there are two Jacks. Rhys decides to give in and pass out, because his brain seems to be reaching its limit.

He only allows himself one last thought, and that is a plan. He will run away. Get a job, get a stipend, get a school and a filthy room at the dorms. And he will meet Jack at an after party and they will fuck. And his father will never ever hear from him again.


	2. Futuristic AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Trigger Warnings: Background Character Death, Grieving, Depression, Self-Harm (Implied), Suicidal Thoughts  
> Additional Tags: AI Jack, Data-Miner (Handsome) Rhys, Utopia, Heavy Angst, my weird writing style in this (should probably be a TW, it's so weird), Abstract Art (it's art, ok?), Colours & Emotions  
> Wordcount: 6035
> 
> I had a wild dream tonight that ended with me coming to peace with my little brother’s (I had a little brother in that dream) death, but when I woke up, I wasn’t okay with it anymore, even though nobody really died, so… angst for you all. Crossing my own boundaries.
> 
> Canon divergence point: Jack AI has all the knowledge, up to the second he died. And there was no Rhys in that timeline to bring him back.
> 
> Also important, this was inspired by [Spacefall](https://twitter.com/sfbl_)'s many genius AUs and brainstorming!

Rhys had led a boring life until recently. Every day had been coloured light blue, soft grey and warm orange. He went to work, met his friends, ate the meals that his mother cooked and studied in the evenings, hoping that changing his field of work for the third time will finally get him a job he would enjoy.

Then one day, everything was painted in crimson red and black. He was so close to the epicentre that some of the red got onto his hands, and he couldn’t wash it off no matter how many times he let scalding-hot water rain onto his skin. The oncoming days were black, and then dark grey, and then everybody turned light blue, soft grey and warm orange again.

Everybody except for Rhys. No matter how many hours he spent with his remaining family, his friends and therapists, he couldn’t shake the dark cloud off his mind. It followed him everywhere he went – to work, to the bar he frequented with his friends, even to his sleep, plaguing him with nightmares. If his life even had purpose before, now it certainly didn’t. Everything was cold and bleary, colourless.

When they asked at his workplace for a volunteer for something dangerous and painful, Rhys stepped forward. He was not the only one – many braver and more talented people volunteered too – but only Rhys was chosen. Perhaps it was because of his upgrades, but probably because of his lack of talent or importance.

His days gained temporary purpose – research. An old piece of technology had been recovered kilometres under the surface of a dead planet, and people much smarter than Rhys had discovered that it contained digital information. Creating an interface between technology so old and their current technology was not possible, but a person with upgrades like the one Rhys possessed could interface with it and then reconstruct what they have discovered.

The process was sure to be painful, but Rhys didn’t fear. He always imagined fear to be dark green, like the satin of his preschool teacher’s robe. It was the colour of the deep ocean and the seaweed that sometimes got washed out on the shore. The day before the first day at his new position, Rhys went to the beach, looking for fear. The place seemed grey and red to him, but that was a welcome change in his otherwise colourless days. But even those colours eventually disappeared, and all Rhys saw were his dirty boots getting ruined by the sand, assaulted by the salty water.

The young man walked all the way up to the place where it had happened and stood there for long minutes, trying to find any feeling in himself other than ache and despair. But there was nothing, just a gaping hole in his life. No warm orange, no dark green. Perhaps, the new job would fill the hole, and if not, he could always change fields again.

On the morning of his first day, Rhys ate only bread for breakfast and drank tea without a sweetener. He was told he might experience nausea during the process and that not eating anything heavy would help. He was grateful for that decision later, before he even sat in the chair that they prepared for him. It wasn’t a regular chair, but it wasn’t a scary chair from horrors either. It was padded and equipped with restraints for his own safety. It looked comfortable, but it promised pain.

Rhys didn’t even get to see the device that would be connected to his brain, but he supposed he wasn’t important enough for that. He sat in the chair and the restraints engaged. A piece of rubber was placed between his teeth for protection were the pain he was about to suffer be so high it could make him bite his tongue off. A doctor was there to make sure Rhys wouldn’t die in the process, and many technicians to analyse whatever he would bring back from his little expedition to the past.

Somebody counted it down quietly, and the process started. Immediately, the world around Rhys was swallowed by red-hot pain. His vision was overpowered by all kinds of colours, and all the sounds in the room were drowned out by static in his ears. Information ran through his brain like icy cold water, like a sharp knife driving into his temple. And it went so fast that he couldn’t even begin to try to analyse it.

This was not the way to go. They wouldn’t be able to analyse the contents of the device like this, not without a better interface. The process had to stop, _immediately_. But when Rhys tried to tell the scientists to halt it, he realised that he couldn’t. He lost control over his body, his mind too preoccupied by the stream of data. All he could do was watch the dataflow stream into his brain and take up more and more space.

Too late did Rhys ask himself how much space would the process actually need. Logically, there couldn’t be more information on the device than what he could store, because his memory storage was very advanced, and there couldn’t be something that advanced in the past. But what if it was a program? What if the first thing it did was to replicate itself? It could be a virus, slowly overloading his processors and his brain. It seemed focused on his human brain mostly, not the advanced computer within his upgrades. What if it was a weapon, designed to erase his consciousness?

The sense of danger grew, finally cutting through the fog that numbed him for months. Then came fear, _dread_ of the alien danger. And after that, acceptance. There was nothing Rhys could do to save himself. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t stop the process. His colleagues and superiors put him in a chair and attached his brain to an unknown artifact, and they didn’t give him a way to save himself if it failed. Maybe it was a punishment. Maybe it was meant to cleanse him of his guilt, of the crimson red on his fingers.

And so, he relaxed into it. He sat back and watched the stream rush forward until he couldn’t watch anymore because all he could do was _sense_ the chaotic information. He didn’t feel, hear, see or sense anything particular. All he had was a vague sense of self and ancient code, and the former kept growing distant, small.

Then just as suddenly as it all came, the information left. It was replaced by an array of normal, human sensations – his body, his thoughts, _the pain_. It all came back at once, and as soon as Rhys was in control again, he breathed in deeply and _screamed_.

It felt wonderful. Finally, he was able to tell the world how much he suffered. Finally, he could move and think and feel, and the torture was over. Tears of gratitude rolled down is face, and he laughed with the rubber piece still in his mouth.

Somebody was talking to him gently, coaxing him to open his eyes. Rhys did that and looked. He _saw_. For a moment, he was confused, as memories and information kept realigning in his mind, and it all didn’t make sense for a short, blissful moment.

And then it did.

Then Rhys saw the doctor who was talking to him, the room where it all happened. But he saw even more, beyond all of that. He saw the reason why he agreed to do this job. He looked down at his hands, now free of the restraints, and he saw crimson red on his fingers.

Another wave of sensations hit him, as if remembering how to exist wasn’t enough of a shock. Rhys remembered, he knew, and he didn’t want to. This job wasn’t a trial or a punishment; it was just a job, and it wouldn’t cleanse him. He suffered for nothing.

The rubber piece fell out of his mouth when he bent forward, panting. A few quiet sobs forced themselves out of his throat. Besides his panting and sobbing, there was absolute silence in the room. Everybody was waiting for him to recover, to tell them what he saw.

He should have told them that it was not the way to go. He should have told them that the interface was imperfect, that his brain couldn’t process the data. They should have never gone to the beach.

But his fingers were covered in crimson red, and Rhys saw it. Even when all his senses came back to him, he could still see it. He knew, felt, suffered. So, when he was sure that he could speak somewhat evenly, he told them.

“It is some kind of code,” he said. “I will… need to take a break, but I think I can understand it eventually.”

Rhys was praised for his lie. He was fussed over and sent home for the day, and nobody stopped to doubt his words. Rhys had never lied. People generally didn’t lie; they didn’t need to. Everybody had what they needed and wanted, and nobody asked for more. People were happy, light blue, soft grey and warm orange, and they didn’t die in crimson red and black.

When he woke up next morning, Rhys wasn’t sure of his actions anymore. His lie, his motives, his choice of breakfast. What he should have done was to eat a proper meal and tell his superiors that he couldn’t continue the task. What he did was to eat white bread and sit in the chair again.

He had to hide his nervousness when the restraints appeared on his wrists again. Yesterday, there were big purple bruises on his wrists and ankles. They were gone within minutes, of course, with the help of one healing crème. But they would probably appear again after this was over.

Rhys took deep breaths, gathering courage. He didn’t know what would happen when he was reconnected to the device. The same flow of information, or more, or less? Was it really a virus, and would it know that he was the same person who escaped it the previous day? Would he die this time?

Would he mind if he did?

When the pain came, Rhys embraced it. He waited for it to raise in intensity, to drown out the pain he felt daily. To make him forget, not feel, not exist. He waited for… for his death.

It was the hardly graspable truth. Rhys _had decided to die_. People didn’t die anymore and yet his hands were crimson red, and yet he had decided to stop existing. Perhaps it would be the first big thing he had achieved in his life – to give up on it willingly. At least, he had never heard of someone who did the same thing. To let something take his life.

Unbearable pain filled Rhys’ mind, but it wasn’t the overload of information. He had forgotten that he was supposed to focus on that. No, what he felt was his own misery, and in a desperate attempt to escape that, he jumped into the stream of data and followed to it where it came from.

It was hardly the first time Rhys’ consciousness left his body via his upgrades and an uplink to a computer, but this time it felt different. There was no virtual reality or space adapted to human minds where he found himself, just information. It wasn’t flowing like before, just resting there, waiting for him to pick on it. He made it.

If Rhys was more than just an information at the time, he would have fallen to his knees and tore his hair out. Because even in this place, the bleary cloud of his guilt followed him. He couldn’t focus on anything else, much less on his task.

Time had to flow differently in the dataspace, or maybe Rhys’ vitals didn’t go crazy like yesterday, because it felt like eternity until something changed. His thoughts were all over the place, as the place he was in didn’t have the capacity to accommodate a human mind, not with all the information just laying around. Because of that, it took him a full minute to process the change.

Something _moved_. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Rhys felt something shift around him. He wanted to ignore it at first, but many options came to his mind that he wanted to prove wrong. The movement might have been some attempt to lure his consciousness back into his body, for example. He didn’t want to stay stuck in the dataspace. Or – and that was scarier – it might have been a sign that he wasn’t alone in there.

If something lived in there, Rhys wanted to leave _immediately_.

The more he became alert, the more he noticed the change. The scattered, nonsensical information around him moved, changed places, _gathered_. As if summoned by his presence, _awoken_. If he were lucky, it could have been a program compiling itself. If he were not, it could be an antivirus gathering its powers to delete him out of the dataspace.

Rhys’ first instinct was to run. He was well on his way out of there when he stopped and reconsidered. The space around him was now alive with changing information, but the flow wasn’t as aggressive as the one that assaulted his human brain. It moved slowly, like a creature that was waking up from deep sleep.

He watched. He was well aware of the dangers, but he decided to stay and watch. He wouldn’t have the time to run if the thing decided to destroy him, but he didn’t need to survive this.

The thing unravelled before his eyes and Rhys’ fascination grew, but in the end, nothing happened. It didn’t form into anything. The information stayed in motion, but instead of the lifeful shifting and gathering, it was pulsating. Almost like breathing, but there wasn’t any activity resembling consciousness – Rhys would be able to see that.

Motivated by curiosity, Rhys engaged the dataspace fully again, submerging all of his consciousness deep into the dataflow one more time. He regretted it immediately. It seeped into the digital equivalent of his mind much like it did outside of the dataspace, taking over his thoughts, becoming one with him. It happened much faster than it did yesterday, and Rhys felt himself disappearing from existence within milliseconds. He couldn’t do anything against the force of the… program, creature? He still didn’t know the thing that would soon kill him.

With only a millisecond remaining until his disappearance, Rhys focused on one thing only. Or well, it wasn’t really his doing; it was just that it caught up with him again, to make him suffer even this shortly before death. His guilt, his pain, his grief.

It all stopped. Not the pain, but the attack had stopped. The thing stopped devouring his consciousness even though it could have killed him. It even pulled back a little after a while, not enough to let him literally collect his thoughts and leave, but enough that it became obvious where Rhys ended and the thing began. They remained connected in the middle, at their cores. At first, Rhys feared that it was just a better strategy to trap him inside of the dataspace. But then he felt something prod gently at his mind.

It was a question. Not literal, and not even the _concept_ of a question. But it felt like one. It was a soft, not invasive prod at his mind that left behind some imprint. Carefully, Rhys took it in, and he _felt_ the question, but more than surprised by that he was awed. Whatever he met here, it could _feel_ almost in the same way as a human could. It was curious-hopeful-blue and a little bit purple and orange.

Somehow, Rhys understood. He was clumsy when he reached out, not used to existing in this state, but he was able to connect to the entity in a similar way. Where the entity gently touched him, he collided with it like an asteroid, but in the end, he was able to give it – hopefully – what it asked for. He showed it his pain and his guilt.

Sharing it on this level left Rhys feeling free for a gorgeous second. But then the entity pulled away, completely, leaving him to his suffering. He feared that he had scared it away, or disgusted it, but before he could reach for it and try to apologise, it attacked him again.

This time, it didn’t try to take him apart. It knew where to go to make the connection between them clear and open, and from there, it answered. For several agonising seconds, Rhys was overwhelmed by pain, guilt, crimson red and black and purple and orange blue, similar to his, yet very different. He recoiled, surprised when the entity let him go and disappeared, pulling as far away from him as the finite dataspace allowed.

The message was clear: _I know. Now get out._

Rhys retreated from the dataspace as fast as he could. He found his way back to his brain easily, vaguely aware that he was being watched. For a while, he found himself trapped in his own body and under the attack of the restless dataflow, and then the connection was cut, and he was able to take full control once again.

This time, it took him longer to recover. It felt like it usually did after integrating with technology on that level, but also ten times worse. Modern dataspaces that were made for this kind of interface usually offered a fake sense of being, a digital body and a lot of senses to remind the human mind of its true form. This space had none of that, and it felt kind of like swimming in a liquid with slightly lover density than water. It was much more exhausting and dangerous than a regular interface for sure.

While Rhys was catching his breath and his bruised – not as much as the previous day but still pretty bruised – wrists and ankles were tended to, he thought about what to say. He didn’t think he would be able to lie to his superiors again, but he wasn’t sure whether saying that whatever was inside was alive was a good idea.

But first, he had to ask himself whether he wanted to go there again. It was dangerous. He could have died. But he didn’t. The strange entity let him go and… shared his pain.

It became obvious quickly that Rhys _wanted_ to go back there and meet the entity again. He didn’t know how to make sure that he would be allowed to do so, and so he chose to be honest, because that was what he knew the best.

He told the scientists that there was a lot of data and an entity made partially or entirely out of it. He told them that they communicated very shortly. He asked, politely, to be allowed to go back and try again after he recovered. His request was accepted.

The next day, when Rhys sat in the chair again, it wasn’t because he didn’t see anything else in life that he could be doing. He sat there and let them connect him to the ancient device, thrilled to meet the entity again. He was giddy, and the reason for it was horrible. He could still die. Or he could be sent away, or forced to feel the entity’s pain, or they could communicate peacefully. It was a _gamble_ , a new word he had learned. He didn’t remember where, but he knew what it used to mean and that it didn’t have a meaning anymore in their world.

This time, the flow of information didn’t assault him. It spilled lazily, prodding at his mind but not stepping in. It was a difference so palpable that Rhys opened his eyes and looked at the scientists in the room in puzzlement, as if they could explain it. He didn’t realise that they had no idea what was happening between him and the device.

Closing his eyes again, Rhys followed the path that the stream set out for him and plunged his consciousness into the dataspace. If he thought that it was going to be easier than the last time, he was wrong. At the last second, the stream rushed forward and met him halfway. Rhys was prepared to lose his sense of self and become little more than just an information. But when he entered the dataspace, he was able to open his eyes.

Rhys struggled to grasp at the reality around him for a while. He stumbled and swayed, overwhelmed by nausea as the space around him bent and changed to accommodate him. It took him what felt like several minutes to understand that the dataspace was trying to create an interface for him and that he could alter it by his thoughts. After that became clear, he was able to construct a body for himself and truly look around with his eyes.

The young man found himself in an office. It was kitschy and overdone in every sense – too big to be practical, too dark to avoid eyestrain, too noisy – filled with the sound of a too big fountain. Nobody had an office like that, not anymore, but maybe it was how offices looked in the past. Extravagant and ugly. Rhys couldn’t find an appeal in it, but he could get over his distaste for the time being.

After making sure that everything was in place – two arms with five fingers on each hand, two working legs, a solid body connecting all of that – Rhys walked forward, stepping into the office fully. He was surprised to find out that he couldn’t alter the space anymore when he tried to make his boots quieter and less dirty. It was almost as if his admin rights were taken away from him.

The office seemed empty at first. Rhys walked across the room, taking it in with his human senses. He couldn’t sense the entity anymore, the interface having altered the whole dataspace, so he decided to make the most of what he had. The room was large, rather cold and dark, most of the light being provided by a planet or a moon behind the big glass window. That meant that the place could be on a space station, spaceship or a different moon, or the window could be just a projection.

Rhys recognised the moment when the entity joined him in the room instantly. The sound of a long sigh couldn’t be overheard. He whipped around, facing the creature, who appeared to be a human and was sitting on a black sofa. One of the extravagant things that the office had was the lounging area, big enough to hold a party of people.

“Care to join me, Pumpkin?” the human form spoke, smirking. Whether they spoke Rhys’ language by default, learned it from him, or the interface took care of it, Rhys wouldn’t know. His upgraded eye was just an eye in the dataspace, and he wasn’t able to use the advantages that his upgrades usually gave him.

Slowly, Rhys walked towards the sofa. He didn’t recognise the person on it, and he was sure that the face they had chosen for themselves was unforgettable, so he assumed that the face wasn’t stolen from his own memory. He could also guess that they were much better acquainted with the interface and possibly still altering the space, because things moved around them as they pleased, a small stool appearing under their legs.

Rhys wasn’t trained for diplomatic contact with sentient, alien beings, but he had to try. He decided that the best approach would be to act naturally, so he bowed slightly upon his approach and introduced himself. Or, he tried to. When he opened his mouth to speak, the entity interrupted him.

“Well, would you look at that! I just arrived, and there are people already bowing to me! Looks like wherever I am, I’m still a king!”

A king? Rhys searched his memory for the meaning of that word and after a while remembered that it used to mean something politically in the past. Capturing the mind of a leader in a device to save them from death would seem like a meaningful act. But how was Rhys supposed to behave now?

“I’m Rhys,” he said dumbly. “I work as a data-miner.”

The entity tilted their head, looking him up and down thoughtfully before smirking again. “Well, hello, Rhys! It’s nice to meet you. Mind telling me what company do you work for?”

Ah, companies, corporations – a thing of the past that everybody learned about at school. This time, Rhys didn’t have to go far to know what the entity was talking about, and he even felt confident answering.

“I work for the people. There aren’t any corporations anymore, everything belongs to the people and is made for them. Companies and brands are a concept of the past that proved to be holding our progress back.” Maybe he sounded like an encyclopaedia, but at least he stood on a familiar ground.

“Hold up,” the entity stopped him, raising a hand in the air. “What do you mean past? What year is it?”

“Counting years had lost the meaning,” Rhys answered. “But I can tell you that several thousands of years had passed since the last corporation war. Have you heard about those?”

“Yeah,” the entity drawled, looking flabbergasted. “I did. That’s the time I come from.” It spoke slowly, and Rhys began to feel bad for shocking it like that.

“Who were you?” he asked, hoping to change the topic.

The entity snorted. “Guess you haven’t learned about me in school if you have to ask. That’s how much impact I’ve left in the world.” Sighing, the entity stood up and spread their arms. “Handsome goddamn Jack, in all his glory.”

They referred to themselves like _he_ , so it must have really been a replica of someone’s mind, Rhys noted to himself. He looked at the man, noticing every little detail of his look. A normal AI would undoubtedly be able to do that, but it probably wouldn’t feel the need to do so.

“You are really a person from the past,” he breathed out. “That’s… amazing! We could—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Pumpkin,” the man interrupted him. “What technology is powering this place up right now? How can a data-miner get _into_ an ECHOdrive, literally? And will you be able to genetically engineer me a body? Because, don’t get me wrong, this place is nice, but I’m not fully sure how did I even become an AI.”

“I…” Rhys trailed off, not knowing what to say. He didn’t know what he was allowed say.

Like a small mercy from the universe, Rhys and Handsome Jack both noticed a small change in their shared space. A call from the outside for Rhys to come back, if he could.

“I have to go,” he informed the AI. “I’ll come back tomorrow and bring you answers, but I have to talk to my superiors first. Thank you for letting me talk to you, by the way!”

And like that, he was gone, consciousness returning into his body.

The scientists, doctors and technician had many questions for him when he came to. Where had he been, how did it happen, who was the man he was talking about. Rhys answered all of them truthfully, still amazed and awed.

To his disappointment, he was told to not come to work the next day. Somebody else was to take over from there, to extract information from the AI in one way or another. Rhys didn’t have clearance for that.

And so, he was back at the beginning. For days, he vainly searched for any colour in the world, the only one he could find being crimson red. He took long, scalding-hot showers, even longer walks outside on the beach. He didn’t eat or sleep, not really feeling the need to.

During one of his walks, Rhys had discovered another new word. _Suicide_. He had never heard it before, but it was a perfect word for what was happening to him. Sitting in that chair for the second time had been a suicide attempt, if he got the meaning right. And even now, as he stared at the spot that was still crimson red and black, and held so much pain, he considered other ways to achieve it. Would it be a suicide if he poisoned himself, or would the poison be the murderer? What if he killed himself with a weapon? Or denied himself food for long enough?

Rhys had returned home late at night, collapsing in his bed. The idea of _suicide_ was calling to him even in his sleep, but other things haunted his dreams too. People, or more specifically, AIs. The handsome AI.

Not rested at all, Rhys woke up in the morning to a request from his workplace. He was kindly asked to return to his task of exploring the ancient device.

Puzzled, he ate his breakfast quickly and ran almost all the way to work. Nobody noted on his appearance, his obvious exhaustion or lost weight – that would be inappropriate. Instead, they explained to him that all attempts to get into the device resulted in failure. The first person that had attempted that was attacked by the AI. They reported that the entity only wished to speak to Rhys and then asked for medical leave, seeking out a therapist. Any other person hadn’t been even able to access the digital space.

Rhys was still dumbfounded when he sat in the chair. He couldn’t believe that he would get to speak to the entity again, after all. And that he was _important_ for the project.

Any nice feelings escaped him when he was assaulted by the data stream, much like the first time. He pushed forward, forcing his way in and finding himself in the dataspace. With no interface to help him communicate.

The information around him moved threateningly, looming over him and all around him. Rhys knew that it could have ended him, and he relished in the fear that the fact caused. When it finally made contact, he almost wished to be killed again as it showed him the pain, guilt, crimson red and black and purple and orange and blue again, overwhelming him. He was barely able to feel anything else, but after an excruciating minute, he showed the entity his own pain.

The storm ended. Rhys found himself on his hands and knees, panting on the floor of the office.

Letting out a long sigh, the man took his time before he stood up on shaky legs. He became face to face with Handsome Jack again. The AI looked _displeased_.

“Where have you been?” he asked when he had the man’s attention, crossing his arms on his chest.

“They took me off the project,” Rhys explained, still shaking. He wanted to say more, but he was cut off by the AI’s curt question.

“Who?”

“My superiors,” the man answered, eyes beginning to flicker nervously all across the office, subconsciously looking for a way out.

“Don’t you have a say in that?” Jack asked, still frowning.

“I don’t understand.”

“Couldn’t you have told them that I won’t talk to anybody else? That you have to stay on the project?” the AI clarified.

“It’s not my place to do that,” Rhys explained, fidgeting. “I’m not in a position to make demands or draw conclusions.”

“Sounds like hell,” Jack scoffed, but his posture relaxed a bit. “Well, give it a try. Tell them that I won’t talk to anybody but you.”

Rhys nodded and added: “I think they know now.” The AI laughed at that, but the man frowned slightly. “The first person that came after me, they are not doing well now. What did you do to them?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Jack answered with a smirk. “The same what I did to you. But they weren’t as strong as you and almost fell apart. I won’t talk with someone as weak. I’ll only talk to you, kapiche?”

“I understand,” Rhys said slowly. “But my superiors,” he paused when Jack scowled in distaste, but then continued, “they don’t want us to… _talk_. They just want the information that makes you… you.”

Suddenly alarmed and guarded, Jack squared his shoulders. “You can get that by talking, but I won’t let you take me apart, however cute you are.”

Rhys shivered, for two reasons. He really didn’t want to take Jack apart, and he didn’t remember the last time someone complimented him like that. He wanted to thank Jack for that. He wanted to tell him that right in that moment, the world was pink for Rhys, for the first time in eternity. Instead, he said: “I don’t want to take you apart. I’d like to just… talk.”

To Rhys’ pleasant surprise, they didn’t stay at talking for long. Soon, Jack grew bored of sharing stuff in words and sentences, and so they shared in a way only the dataspace allowed. Their bodies connected and they became one being made out of two, sharing information in a controlled stream to take the intensity off of it.

Every time they did that, Rhys came to in his body with a smile on his lips. It felt great to share pieces of himself with the AI. In moments before the interface constructed itself, Rhys was able to see information in the dataspace that was _him_. His imprint on Jack, the things he had lived and learned and thought.

He was almost happy. He brought pieces of information back to his superiors, ignoring their light frowns and prompting to maybe choose a different, more effective tactic. When a doctor suggested to him that he should take a break, he laughed. “I can handle myself, Cupcake,” he had answered. He knew that cupcakes were sweet and soft, but the woman didn’t, and it was funny how she was trying to figure out what it means.

Rhys had learned so many new things. When he looked at the world, it was full of colour again. It was yellow and white and black, gold and brass and fire and stars. Looking at the map of the six galaxies, he saw a never-ending war, green and hunger and power that could be his. He knew the secrets that nobody else did.

Eventually, they forbid him to go back into the dataspace, but Rhys couldn’t be stopped now. He was young, handsome, powerful, he had ambitions and a great goal. All they needed was a spare body, and then they would rule the world.

* * *

**Bonus**

* * *

> “You did well, Pumpkin! You’ve made Jack so proud.”
> 
> “For you,” he seconded. “Did it for you.”
> 
> “Oh, trust me, I know, Rhysie. I know. Now, why don’t we take me out of this shithole? The universe won’t rule itself!”
> 
> He didn’t feel hesitant, but he asked anyway. “Are we really doing this? Is it all true?”
> 
> “Have I ever lied to you?!”
> 
> Oh no, he didn’t want to anger him. “No, no, of course not! I’m just nervous and excited.”
> 
> “I know, kitten, don’t worry. I’m just messing with ya! You know that I feel what you feel.”
> 
> He knew. Sometimes, it hurt, but Jack had taught him to embrace the pain, use it to give him energy to move forward, just like he did.
> 
> “I miss him,” he confessed. “I have done everything and it still… I…”
> 
> “Hush, sweet thing, that’s not what this night is about. Tonight, we celebrate our victory! The universe is already ours; I can feel it!”
> 
> “Yeah…”
> 
> “He would be proud, you know. That his big brother did all of that, beat the system that failed to save the poor little guy and avenged him. You’re doing what is right.”
> 
> “Thank you.”
> 
> “No, Princess, thank _you_. For everything. For the universe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, the world is screwed, because Handsome Jack + technology that can make him immortal and all-powerful + a dumbass who will show him around. Rhys is corrupted, and he was such an easy target, basically the universe falling into Jack's lap.
> 
> For clarification, Rhys' little brother slipped on a rock when Rhys took him to the beach. The place he kept visiting was the rocky shore where it happened. The boy fell and hurt himself on the head so badly that help didn't get to them in time, even though Rhys picked him up in his arms and ran towards the nearest medic. His guilt was also fuelled by the feeling that he did something wrong, that if it was anybody else, they would know better.
> 
> _Big thank you to everybody who fuelled my depression and thus allowed me to finish a couple of heavy angst WIPs! Wouldn't make it without you! <3_


	4. Arranged Marriage AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Trigger Warnings: none(-ish)  
> Additional Tags: Some Angst, Fluff, Smut, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Sex and Feelings; also: Dad Jack, Teen Angel, Rhys' ace son Bruno, Rhys' moustache as the source of all evil, Plot Twists  
> Wordcount: 3633

The nations of the Pandora continent are under attack. Bandits from the northern islands had come to posses the powers and weapons of ancient creatures called Eridians and immediately launched an attack on the two most powerful nations – Hyperion and Atlas.

Both nations had powerful armies, but the ancient artifacts and weapons quickly devastated them. Hyperion and Atlas had been at war for years, but they made peace, however fragile it was, and joined forces. But even their combined technologies did nothing against the Children of the Vault.

The last hope were the other nations. If only one of them lent their forces and helped, the CoV would be defeated. But here is the problem – neither nation wanted to send their troops into battle to fight for the two nations only to lose them if either Handsome Jack or Rhys Strongfork decided to stab each other in the back. And so, both Mrs Tediore and Mr Jakobs offered a deal – if Atlas and Hyperion are bound by marriage, the two nations will help them defeat their enemy. No marriage, no deal.

That is how Angel finds herself throwing everything that isn’t bolted down at her father. “ _I hate you!_ ” she screams, her voice resonating with her barely controlled powers. “I hate you so much! You’re a monster! You’re… an asshole!”

Books, pencils, papers, mugs and even the chair are thrown at the president. She takes a few steps to the side and starts throwing pillows, her blanket, the lamp on the bedside table. She tugs the drawer open and starts throwing the clutter from there, and Jack just stands in the doorway, letting her vent.

“You’ll understand one day,” he says rather calmly, though it is obvious that he is only holding back because she is his daughter, “that I would never do something to hurt you. I’m doing what’s best for you.” He dodges the more dangerous objects but stands proudly when the less dangerous ones hit him.

“I hate you!” the siren screams. “I thought that you’ve learned! I thought that you—! Aaargh, you’re such an—!” Seeming to run out of things to throw, she moves to another part of her spacious bedroom. “After you’ve released me from the Bunker,” she says, a little bit calmer, “I thought that you’ve finally realised what is _right_. I _trusted_ you! And here you are using me again!”

“Angel,” Jack grits through his teeth. He doesn’t like to be reminded of the past, and the young woman knows that. “I already told you, I wouldn’t—”

“Lies!” she hisses, attempting to throw a vase at him, but it is too heavy and shatters after a short curved fall. “Get the hell out of my room,” she sighs in exasperation. “I don’t want to see you ever again. You’re not my father.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jack mumbles but turns to leave.

Angel bristles, almost managing to summon her powers to really hurt him. But he is already gone, only the weight he had put on her shoulders staying behind. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knows that this war needs to happen, for the safety of all the people on the continent. But she also knows that if her father didn’t lead his pointless war with Atlas, this wouldn’t have happened, and if he maybe gave her a choice, then it would also be a little easier.

But no, Handsome Jack, the monster, strides into her room a day before the wedding to tell her that she will be marrying Bruno, the son of the Atlas president. She had only met him once before, talked to him a couple times and always very briefly. She hates her life.

* * *

The next day comes too quickly, and Angel finds herself dressed in a rather simple yellow dress with glitters in the skirts and small gemstones sewn into the corset part of it. Her hair is made up in a way that covers the cybernetics on her head and her makeup covers the bags under her eyes. But not even the bouquet of her favourite flowers – orange carnations – can bring a smile to her face.

The siren’s mouth twists with disdain when Jack walks into the room, all dressed up in a suit that was probably three times as expensive as her dress, a wide smile on his face. “How is my princess doing?” he asks, reaching to ruffle her hair and stopping on the last second. The collar on Angel’s neck flickers dangerously as it struggles to contain her powers, the yellow scarf of her neck doing little to hide it.

“Why is my dress not white?” she asks. Honestly, there is little she can focus on right now. Everything feels like a lost battle, so she picks a smaller one that she might be able to win.

“Because yellow will piss Rhys off the most,” her father answers simply. Before she can give him a piece of her mind, he takes her hand. “It’s time to go, sweetheart. Let’s not make the gentlemen wait.”

Jack hums a happy melody as they walk towards the hall where the ceremony will take place, and Angel slowly begins to realise that there might have been a bit of truth in Jack’s yesterday’s words. He is too happy for someone who is giving away his daughter to a stranger. He’d been overprotective of her most of her life, and it seems impossible that he would just give her to Atlas like that.

Unless this is all a trick. Of course, Handsome Jack is a manipulator, he is always planning something. Maybe the whole wedding is a ruse. Maybe she was put in a nice dress and made to believe that she is being forced to marry someone she barely knows only to make the ruse more believable. Becoming her father’s pawn once again.

The door to the great hall is closed as they wait for the signal. Angel takes the opportunity to turn to Jack. “Spill it,” she says. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” he asks innocently. “I’ll make a lot of people very happy and a few people very angry. Usual stuff on weddings.”

She doesn’t like the vague answer, but the door opens, and they need to continue in silence. Jack grins as he holds her hand and slowly walks her down the aisle. At the end of it, Rhys and Bruno are already waiting. The young man is dressed in a black suit with dark red lining and a red dress shirt under it, and his father is wearing a white suit and a similar dark red dress shirt.

Angel finds it hard to focus as they near the altar. All she can think about is that she doesn’t want it, that she never chose this life. It is impossible to keep her face at least neutral.

And then they reach the altar, and Jack steps forward, releases Angel’s hand and takes Rhys’.

“Shall we begin?” he asks.

“Well, don’t keep me waiting,” the Atlas president answers with a wink, as if it was a shared secret joke between them. They both step towards the priest, leaving their kids behind.

The room fills with whispers and shocked gasps. Only a few people are not surprised. Angel and Bruno are very surprised, exchanging confused glances. When Bruno’s mouth falls open, Rhys bursts into giggles.

“Oooh God, you should see their faces!” he says in a low voice to Jack. “Priceless!”

“Are the cameras getting it?” the other man asks, also muffling laughter. “Please, tell me it’s in good quality.”

“The highest,” Rhys confirms. “You should see the shock, oh my—” he giggles again. “I have to admit that sometimes you have the best ideas.”

“I always have the best ideas, Pumpkin,” Jack snorts. “It’s not like I wouldn’t find a way to not give my daughter to some _Atlas_ ,” he says with mock disgust. Finally, he turns his head to the side, just enough to wink at Angel.

“You’re saying that like Atlas wasn’t much better than Hyperion, but the numbers say otherwise,” Rhys notes calmly, not moved by Jack’s theatrics.

“I don’t think you understand sales numbers, Cupcake,” Jack teases. “‘Cause that aren’t supposed to be as low as possible, like yours are.”

At that point, the priest clears his throat. “Can we begin?” he asks, voice annoyed.

Both men answer _sure_ way too eagerly. Jack tries to cover it up by slapping Rhys’ ass, but the younger man’s cybernetic arm wraps around his wrist fast, halting his hand when it is halfway there. Rhys shoots Jack one warning glare, which he repays with a charming grin. “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he mutters when Rhys turns away.

* * *

Hours later, Angel is laying on her stomach on a huge bed, alone and in peace, texting her friends about her wild weekend. There is a knock on her door around midnight, and she is actually happy to hear it. It must be Jack, and for maybe the first time ever, she will be happy to see him, because she owes him an apology. Sure, pranking her like this was evil, but he kept his promise.

But when she opens the door, she doesn’t see Jack. Instead, Bruno stands there with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his head. He looks like a perfect copy of his father, all tall, lean and admittedly, handsome. His eyes are brown and blue, one of them an ECHOeye. The only thing missing are the first few wrinkles on his face, that Rhys already has, and the terrible moustache.

“Hi,” he says, giving her a nervous crooked grin. “Can I come in? Please?”

“Sure,” Angel nods, stepping away from the door to let him into her room. “Came to make peace?” she guesses as she sits on her bed, Bruno sitting in an armchair.

“More like looking for asylum,” he snorts. “My suite is right next to theirs,” he explains.

“Oh,” Angel nods. “They are fighting?” It wouldn’t be surprising. Jack and Rhys hated each other for years, and they never went more than five minutes without threats and insults.

“I wish,” Bruno groans with a shudder. “Come _on_ , you’re supposed to be the smartest person on the planet,” he almost whines. “How have you _not_ figured it out yet?” He throws his head back against the backrest, rubbing his eyes.

The siren frowns as she thinks about everything Bruno has said so far. Slowly, the realisation hits her. “Oh,” she says. Then again but with more repulsion. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Bruno mocks. “I’m never getting the sounds out of my head.”

“Oh crap,” she says sympathetically. “I can lend you my earbuds and echopad if you want to listen to some music,” she suggests.

“That would be great,” he sighs. “Can I stay here? I’ll take the couch.”

After years of being hidden away from the world and being told that everyone is dangerous, Angel is naturally a little wary. It takes her too long to answer, and Bruno gives her another crooked grin. “You can say no if you don’t trust me,” he says. “But I don’t have any… ulterior motives here. I just want to sleep without being traumatised.”

Sympathy wins, and Angel nods with a weak smile. “Sorry,” she says. “Not used to trusting people. I didn’t think that you would… you know.” She blushes and looks down to her ECHO, biting her lip nervously.

“I’m not even,” Bruno begins to talk, but stops himself. “Sorry, almost oversharing as always. I’m just saying that I… I would appreciate if we could be friends or allies – we need to repay our fathers for this bullshit – and not enemies. I don’t want you to hate me for what the war forced our nations to do. But I also don’t want you to think that I want anything… more, you know? I’m not into… _that_. At all.” He chuckles, fidgeting in the chair. “I guess I ended up oversharing anyway.”

“Only a little,” Angel admits with a muffled chuckle. “So, you got my attention with the revenge. How far are you willing to go?”

Bruno’s expression turns into something almost mischievous, but his soft face ruins it, making him still look somewhat kind. “Oh, _very_ far. I swear that ever since dad got the _stupid_ moustache, he is insufferable. Half of our conversation is always puns! How am I supposed to be his strategist when he talks in puns and dad jokes?!”

“Oh my,” Angel laughs. “Does your dad also overuse emojis?”

“Yes!”

* * *

**Bonus scene:**

In the newlyweds’ suite, the air is filled with loud cries and sobs. Rhys seems unable to close his mouth, an endless stream of those sounds rolling off his lips, tears streaming down his face. Jack is pounding him from behind like a man possessed, one hand wrapped around Rhys’ throat and the other holding his hip, pressing him down into the mattress so he can’t escape.

Suddenly, the sounds end all at once as Rhys’ body goes rigid, back arching as he comes untouched, the merciless assault of his sweet spot too much for him to hold off any longer. He lets out a little whimper as he collapses back into the mattress boneless, both Jack’s hands now holding his hips as the older man’s chases his own release.

“Hold on for me, baby,” he murmurs into Rhys’ ear. “Can you do that for me?”

It doesn’t take much longer, and they are both spent and laying on their backs, panting and cooling off. Rhys is the first one to calm his breathing and roll onto his side, looking at Jack’s silhouette in the darkness.

Jack notices his gaze and grins. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Rhys chuckles, leaning in for a kiss. Jack’s arms come to wrap around his shoulders, keeping him there until his arms give out and he is forced to rest on Jack’s chest. He can feel the older man’s heart hammering against his chest and Jack’s arms pull tighter around him, keeping him there.

“Good night, Jack,” Rhys hums, making himself comfortable. He doesn’t mind the position, letting Jack’s heartbeat lull him to sleep.

* * *

Rhys wakes up on his back, warm and relaxed. It takes him several minutes to come to himself and realise what is happening. He feels warm lips on his body, hears Jack murmuring to himself.

Although he would like to listen to what Jack is saying, or savour the moment, Rhys can’t. He breaks the spell by clumsily reaching for Jack’s face and pulling him in for another kiss. He knows what secrets he was pressing into his skin. Rhys missed him too.

The kiss never ends, only interrupted as they suck in quick breaths, too lost in each other, their bodies wrapped around each another. All the emotions and the words neither of them dared to say yet are conveyed in the kiss.

After long minutes, Rhys pulls away, a goofy smile on his lips. “We should clean up,” he says. “I think I’m lying in a puddle of come, and it’s gross.”

“Hmm, shower sex?” Jack asks, carefully thrusting against Rhys’ hip bone, dick half hard.

“No, just shower,” Rhys groans. “‘M tired!”

“Sure, Pumpkin,” Jack chuckles. “Just shower.” He gets up, stretching his limbs and eliciting a few loud pops from his joints, and then he helps Rhys get up too. The younger man frowns when Jack takes the lube off the nightstand. “Can’t blame a guy for hoping,” Jack laughs as he ushers Rhys into the shower.

Once the hot water begins to descend upon their bodies, it doesn’t evolve into another make out session, as Rhys feared. Jack simply wraps his arms around him and pulls him into a tight hug. Rhys’ head comes to rest on Jack’s shoulder, his arms holding him just as tightly.

Slowly, Jack presses little kisses to Rhys’ ear, the soft spot under it, then on his temple. His palm spreads out on the small of his back, fingers massaging lightly in a soothing motion.

In the warmth of the shower, the words don’t seem that heavy to Rhys anymore. “Seven long years,” he says, nuzzling against Jack’s shoulder. “I... I can’t believe this is happening. I _missed you so much_ ,” his voice breaks down, but he continues to mumble into Jack’s skin.

“I’m here now,” Jack promises quietly. “You're not alone. I’m here. I will always be here.”

Rhys nods and sniffles. They have said it all already once, they had to, to set things straight between them. But neither one of them opened about their feelings yet, keeping their first honest conversation in years rather cynical. Rhys had decided that he had enough of that now, though.

“I thought you had died when Helios sunk,” he whimpers. “I went searching for you, I was so, _so scared_. I didn’t know they made it look like my job. And then I found you, unharmed and angry in the harbour city, and you didn’t even _listen_ to me, just tried to k-kill me! I was so desperate and scared and—!” his voice breaks again.

“Shh, I’ve got you now, you’re safe,” Jack soothes, his voice tainted with his own emotions. “I’m so sorry I didn’t hear you out, Pumpkin. I was a fool.”

“But if I didn’t let them steal my signet ring—”

“Rhys!” Jack cuts him off sharply, effectively silencing him. “I apologised, and you’ve spent the last seven years abandoned and rejected. Can’t we just… Throw it behind our backs and forget about it? I want to focus on finally being with you.” There is none of his usual sarcasm, or any threats in his voice. It is full of years of pain and hatred, and it breaks something in Rhys.

The younger man looks up, studying the older one’s expression. He smiles softly, moving a strand of hair off Jack’s forehead. “Alright,” he says, kissing Jack’s chin. “We’re alone now. Just us. Safe.”

Jack can’t stop a little scoff. “The war will go on tomorrow.”

“But not today,” Rhys objects. “You’ve said it yourself. Let’s focus on the important stuff…” His organic hand slowly, tentatively strokes down Jack’s chest. Rhys watches for the older man’s reaction, but Jack doesn’t seem intent on stopping him, so he continues lower, until his fingers wrap around Jack’s cock, giving him a few strokes. “Shower sex?” he suggests.

Jack chuckles but shakes his head lightly. “Are you suggesting that because you really want it, or is it because you want to take my mind off things?”

Although Rhys is moved by the concern and sentiment, he rolls his eyes. “You think too high of me, Jack. I wouldn’t force myself for you; I’m too old for that.”

“Old,” Jack barks out a laugh. “Ooh, dumdum, you’re hilarious. Want Jack to fuck your old body, huh? I dunno, wrinkles never did it for me…”

“Stop teasing!” Rhys hisses, giving Jack a firm squeeze as a warning.

“Okay, okay, kitten’s got claws, I get it. I’m silent as a fish.” Jack raises his hands defensively, mimicking locking his mouth with a key. But suddenly, his hands are on Rhys’ hips, spinning him around.

The president of Atlas barely has enough time to brace himself before Jack, now kneeling behind him, starts opening him out with his tongue. He moans deeply, hoping the walls are as sound-proofed as the owner promised. He can’t stop more and more pornographic sounds coming from his mouth as Jack tongues and sucks at his sensitive hole. He was already loose from the first round, so Jack can press two slicked up fingers at once into him, quickly locating his prostate and fingering it mercilessly.

“Ah, Jack! Jack, Jack, Jack!” the name rolls off his tongue like a prayer as he is pushed towards his peak at lighting speed before suddenly being denied as Jack pulls away. Instead of whining and begging, Rhys turns around and kisses Jack deeply. “Fuck me,” he breathes against his lips.

“Your wish is my command, Princess,” Jack chuckles, hoisting him up by his thighs and pressing him against the shower wall. Rhys wraps his legs around him and clings to his shoulders, helping Jack support his weight. It wouldn’t end good for the whole continent if the presidents of the two coastal nations died in a shower accident.

The moment Jack fucked into him, Rhys threw his head back and opened his mouth, letting pleasured and slightly pained sounds fill the room once more. Hot water streamed down his face like a calming touch, and Jack’s lips latched onto his collar bones, biting and sucking as a distraction from the stretch of his ass.

“More, now,” Rhys moans when Jack slots himself against his hips, and the older man obliges, pulling out and thrusting in harshly. He starts fucking him at a moderate pace, not daring to go faster in their current position.

When it became too much and not enough for both of them, Jack made Rhys kneel on the floor, front leaning against the wall, and knelt behind him. From there, he could fuck him as violently as before, hips snapping against Rhys’ ass so hard it stung. The younger president was coming undone in seconds, come spilling out of his dick and painting the wall in front of him. This time, Jack wasn’t far behind, thrusting his come into Rhys’ ass soon after.

After they properly washed themselves and changed the sheets together (there were, thankfully, spare ones in the wardrobe, because of course they were, in a honeymoon suite), they lay together and soon fell asleep. The war would continue tomorrow morning, not to mention the PR catastrophe they inevitably created.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel: “What do you think will happen now?”  
> Bruno: “Well, Atlas and Hyperion will join forces, they will become the most powerful nation on the planet and probably conquer the world. Jack and my dad will be unstoppable.”  
> “Oh god.”  
> “Yeah. This will be interesting.”


	5. Private Detectives AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Explicit  
> Trigger Warnings: Human Trafficking, Implied Child/Underage Sexual Abuse, Kidnapping, Violence  
> Additional Tags: Angst with Happy Ending, Feelings Realisation, Action, First Kiss  
> Wordcount: 1594

In his defence, Rhys was _very_ angry when he made the decision to go there. Twenty-seven years old, he really didn’t take well to being babied by his older colleague. But Jack was such an egoistical, self-centred asshole who always had to be right and have the last word...

Maybe Jack was right this time, but that doesn’t change anything about the fact that many times, Rhys was the one who solved the case and he had to fight for his voice to be heard by the senior detective. Every time, he was praised and rewarded for standing his ground. This time... it didn’t go as well as expected.

The white meat market case had been on their table for two years. The man who hired them to find his daughter had since died in a car crash, but the file wasn’t thrown away, evidence being added slowly but periodically. It was never enough to bring to the police, but both Jack and Rhys hoped that one day, they will get justice. Being considered the best private detective out there, Jack didn’t have any doubts.

Rhys had noticed the suspicious house by sheer luck while he was tracking an unfaithful husband. Jack always left the boring, stupid cases to him. While taking photos of the husband’s car in front of his lover’s house, and the silhouettes in the windows, a flash startled him. At first, he thought that someone took a photo of him, or maybe a flash storm was approaching the town, but then he noticed the neighbour’s house.

It didn’t seem to belong to anybody yet, the building not finished. Construction materials were strewn in the garden, the electricity line wasn’t connected yet, the facade was finished, but the windows still had protective tape on them. But something had to be inside, something unusual, because the flashes were coming from there. Irregularly, sometimes one, sometimes two in a rapid succession.

Being a curious, investigative person (obviously), Rhys decided to sneak into the property. What he saw when looking through the windows, still empty with no curtains or blinds, was sickening. Young people, most seeming to be teens, were forced one by one to stand in front of a camera naked, being photographed. None of them seemed happy about it, but they were threatened with guns.

Rhys only took a few photos as evidence and ran. He presented Jack with his discovery the very same evening, waking him up in the middle of the night. But to his disappointment, his colleague wanted to wait a day, gather just a little more evidence. It was true that the photos that Rhys took could be shot down in court, but the kids were _right_ _there_ , and they could help them!

It is important to note that the relationship between Rhys and Jack was purely professional, but they were the only two people in the world who believed that. Their common friends had seen past the denied glances and lingering touches.

Those were the only things on Rhys’ mind as he sat in the darkness and absolute silence. When it came to the fight four hours ago, his head was full of other things. Thrill, fear, survival instincts that really should have kicked in sooner. Now it was just Jack. Like a prayer, _Jack, Jack, Jack_.

What will he do when he figures out that Rhys stole his gun and went into action on his own? What will he do when he finds out that he failed and got captured? Will he find him? Will he go looking all around the world and find him in the cellar of some creepy and rich man? If Rhys is still alive by then...

But what if Jack gets hurt while looking for Rhys? What if they kill him? Those awful thoughts make Rhys sob silently, regretting everything. But it is too late.

It went well for exactly zero minutes. Rhys had arrived and parked not far away, then sneaked into the garden again. He was seen by someone inside and didn’t realise until there were three guns trained on him and he was surrounded, not even hearing them coming. It was still hours till dawn, and nobody had heard him yelp before he was hit in the head by one of the guns.

He woke up naked to his underwear, feeling filthy, cold. His head throbbed, and he couldn’t open his eyes, because they were taped over. Some cloth was in his mouth, and it was taped over too. The same tape held his arms behind his back and his feet bound together. He huddled in the corner of the room as much as he could and waited for something to happen.

He would fear that they would just leave him there to die if he didn’t hear a muffled conversation behind the door of his room. _‘It is 8 PM in Japan, we can call him now. This guy will be his type, trust me.’ 'But you talk to him! That man is an absolute psycho, I don’t want anything to do with him!’_ They probably talked about his buyer. From the mentioned time, he knew how long he had been there.

Nobody comes into the room for hours. Rhys is hungry, thirsty, and exhausted from the coldness. He knows that the teens aren’t there anymore from the silence in the building, and that he didn’t help anybody, only created more work. He is alone, and all he can think about is _Jack_. What if he just forgets about him?

A single shot rings through the house, startling the young man awake from his daze. Adrenaline pumps into his bloodstream in buckets, and he sits up only to be stopped by the bonds. The shot sounded close but was probably a few rooms away, their emptiness causing a disturbing echo.

For three heavy seconds, there is silence, and then more shots, screaming, sirens. _Sirens_. The police!

Rhys starts screaming behind the gag, making noise for them to find him, but the door to his room opens and he stills. It is common that people that do this sort of business kill all witnesses and themselves when discovered. All blood freezes in the young detective's body as he waits for his death. Shot as an afterthought, not in a fight, not a hero yet.

But no shot comes, only quick steps and a muttered curse. “Sunova bitch!”

 _Jack_.

Again, Rhys’ body rushes forward without any thought, the bonds stopping him. Police is screaming orders in the background, no more shots being fired. Banging sounds hint on doors being busted in as the house is searched, but Rhys only focuses on warm hands that are placed on his shoulders, calming him as well as holding him down so he can’t hurt himself further.

The door to the room is opened loudly, and Jack moves away for a second, shuffling. “Found him!” he calls loud and clear, his voice a little stained with some emotion.

“Bastard!” comes an answer, exasperated. “You weren’t supposed to go in, Lawrence!”

“And you were supposed to stop me,” Jack retorts with his usual smugness. “As far as I am concerned, your boss doesn’t need to know that you endangered a civilian if you a) give me your knife, b) stop fucking staring.”

A shiver runs through Rhys’ body at Jack’s words, and he whimpers subconsciously. He hears as the policeman gives something to Jack and then leaves the room, reporting to his colleagues.

Cold steel touches Rhys’ ankle as Jack cuts his legs free, making him gasp and freeze. The senior detective proceeds to carefully cut the tapes on Rhys’ wrist, gently tipping his body forward to allow him access to them, and while the younger man tries to massage feeling back into his stiff limbs, Jack makes quick work of the tape on his mouth.

“Mpfh!” Rhys yelps, opening his mouth so Jack can take the cloth out of his mouth.

“I have bad news about your favourite shirt,” Jack says, then puts his fingers on one corner of the last piece of tape.

“No!” Rhys stops him, fearing that Jack will tear the tape away and his eyebrows with it.

Shushing him, the older man begins to slowly peel the duct tape away. The sweat on Rhys’ skin makes it easier, and no body hair is harmed in the process, but Rhys’ eyes sting and lids stick together as he blinks.

“Hey,” Jack says, looking at him with a forced smirk.

“Hey,” Rhys rasps in return. “How did you—?”

“Tracker,” Jack answers before he can finish the question. “I put one in your car and one in your phone when I realized that you're an idiot and will likely get into trouble at some point. You exceeded my expectations.”

Rhys snorts, wondering what expectations those were. Did Jack expect him to get into trouble sooner, or was it bigger trouble than expected? He is just about to ask in a cocky way when Jack interrupts him again. “Well, I— Mpfh!”

There are hot lips on his suddenly, a tongue licking into his mouth with confidence as he gasps in surprise. Jack takes his face in both hands and holds him, tilting his head back when Rhys begins to return the kiss.

When they part, they are both panting. Rhys speaks first, a confused, rather whiny _‘what’_ coming from his still parted lips.

Jack shakes his head and looks down, not answering. Instead, he says: “Never do this to me again, dumbass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What didn’t fit into the story was that Rhys actually saved a couple people that were also in the house, just heavily drugged. One of the kidnappers fired first when they noticed police approaching. Jack sneaked into the house with his revolver, ready to kill anyone if he finds out Rhys was harmed, but he didn’t need to. They had a talk afterwards, Rhys spent a week in a hospital with a concussion, then visited a therapist for three months to make sure he is alright, and then him and Jack lived happily ever after. Ten years later, they finally brought the conspiration behind the white meat market down.


	6. Monster Hunters AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: Mature  
> Trigger Warnings: Implied Demons having babies with Humans, Bad Stuff implied to be happening on the Black Market (gasp), very distantly Implied Egg Laying  
> Additional Tags: Monster Hunters Jack and Wilhelm, Cat-person Rhys, Comedy  
> Wordcount: 1595
> 
> Get a load of Rhys acting like a cat! :D

Jack smirks as he reads the several reports of a house being possessed by a _cat demon_. He rolls his eyes at every name people give to the monster – Feline Doom, Clawed Death, _Furious Furry_ – and writes down the address. He is one hundred and ten percent sure that there is no cat demon but actually a child of a cat demon and a woman, because those are much more common.

This kind of demon spawn is half-way between a human and a demon. They don’t have many special abilities, but they look exotic and sell for a high price. That’s why so many people try to summon cat demons on their wives, but all they end up with is a puddle of blood as the demon uses the wife, or even them, as a cat toy.

But whenever a cat demon actually chose to – to say it nicely – have intercourse with a woman, a child like this one was born. As offspring of demons, they grew and learned much quicker, reaching maturity in two or three years, shortly before the spell on their mothers broke and they realised what their child really is.

“Wil, we’ve got job!” Jack shouts, packing up. Although those creatures aren’t dangerous, they need to be handled asap. If a wrong person gets to it first, it will end up on the black market. And especially if it still partially resembles a human child, the things that will happen to it… Jack doesn’t want to let that happen.

They are on the road in less than ten minutes, although Wilhelm is quite grumpy and still tying his shoes while Jack speeds through the city. His car has their logo on the side, and the police won’t bother this city’s best monster hunters. That is one of the many plus sides to this job.

Later, as he clutches his hand to his chest with the other one, trying to will the burning and pain away while he is unable to do anything about the bleeding, not before he cleans it with some holy water, he reconsiders the pros and cons again, and for the billionth time swears that he will quit this job.

“You won’t,” Wilhelm laughs while he backsteps to him, handing him his shirt – one of the not many things that weren’t destroyed by the demon spawn yet. Jack’s jacket and favourite shirt were torn to shreds, and Wilhelm is missing most of one pant leg. The kitty has surely got some claws.

“Okay, let’s—” Jack cuts himself off and hisses when he wraps the shirt around his hand. “Let’s change strategy. No strings, no baits, let’s just grab him.”

The bigger man grumbles but shrugs and nods, walking towards the shadow where the spawn ran after attacking Jack the last time. The shadow hisses, but Jack and Wilhelm approach fast enough to corner the creature. It jumps to slip between them, but Wilhelm manages to get a grasp on its tail.

A high-pitched cry pierces the air and the creature goes completely still, trying to not hurt its tail more. While Wilhelm has it in a firm grip, Jack pounces on it, bringing it to the dusty floor and pinning it with his weight.

“Got’cha!” he exclaims victoriously, quickly finding the back of the creature’s neck and pinching it. It goes completely still, only one whimper escaping its mouth.

“I’ll get the holy water,” Wilhelm grumbles, sounding about ready to go home. Meanwhile, Jack ties the demon spawn’s arms behind its back, being very careful around the claws. He ties its legs too, knowing what they are capable of.

For the sake of irony, they keep the holy water in a flask with a picture of a pentagram on it. It hisses when it comes into contact with the wound, but then the burning feeling finally goes away, and they can bandage it.

“What about it?” Wilhelm asks, pointing to the demon spawn with a leg. “Send it to Hell?”

At that, the creature/person finally come to themselves, sitting up and looking at them wide-eyed. It is a young man, appearing to be in his late twenties, which means three or four years old (which is twenty-one to twenty-eight in demon offspring years).

“P-please no, not there!” he stutters. “I don’t want to go _there_!”

“It’s not like there are many choices for you, Pumpkin,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “Your kind doesn’t have any mimicry. We can either kill you, or send you to Hell.

“Please, just let me go!” the cat-person whimpers, ears flattening against his head and eyes big and round and it … has this… _effect_ on Jack…

“Oh for—” Wilhelm begins to grumble.

“Alright!” says Jack.

* * *

It is a long process. The authorities don’t like tamed monsters – there aren’t ZOOs and circuses with monsters anymore because they _always_ escape – and demon spawn is even worse. If Rhys’ – that’s how the cat-person calls himself – daddy comes knocking on Jack’s door, they will get a big fat _told you so_ from both the city and the insurance company.

But Jack and Wilhelm are famous and popular, so they are pardoned for keeping a monster. That is not the problem. The problem is actually _keeping_ it.

First, Jack had to cut Rhys’ claws, which caused so much crying and begging he had to take breaks, because his heart just couldn’t _take_ it. Leave it to cat-people, they knew how to pull at a human heart.

“I will dieeeee!” Rhys cried. “Pleaseeee, don’t do this! I don’t wanna die! I will bleed out! I was good, please, please, _please_!”

“You won’t die, idiot!” Jack growled in response, kneeling on Rhys’ arm partially to keep it still as he carefully cut the claws and then gently pilled them down. “They will grow back in a week or two! You aren’t bleeding! Fucking stop!”

Rhys stayed silent for three beautiful seconds, and then he piped up, mournful and repressing tears: “But you are murdering me…”

The collar is the second struggle. Some people might argue that it is humiliating, degrading, hurting or whatever, but those people Jack would flip off and ignore. The implications of a collar weren’t what bothered Rhys, nor the spells on it that kept him from leaving the house. What he hated was the colour.

“It’s reeeeed,” he whined. “I don’t liiiiiiike red! My favourite colour is blue!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but they were all out of blue magical collars!” Jack seethed, crumpling a paper in his hand, about to throw it at the cat.

“Oh,” Rhys gasps. There is another perfect three second silence, and then: “And did they have any grey ones?”

Jack flips the table.

Hair isn’t a problem. If it was, Jack would probably burn the whole house and the cat with it. No, Rhys only has cat hair on his tail, ears and in a thin line around his hairline. They let his hair grow a little longer, so this aspect is covered.

But other annoying aspects of keeping a cat are there. Jack can’t leave any clothes out, or he will find a sleeping man on it. No matter how many times they talked about it (“You’re supposed to be almost as intelligent as a human! What do you mean you _can’t resist sleeping in the clothes hamper_?!” “I just can’t…”), this happened at least once a week.

Sometimes, even though Jack kept his claws trimmed, Rhys would scratch at furniture, walls, floors, anything that made annoying sounds. A spray bottle with water helped against it, but then Jack was left with a pouty kitten and a long speech from Rhys who claimed that he isn’t some stupid animal and Jack should control his stupid mortal urges.

Speaking about urges, the very first day was probably the most trying. Jack left Rhys to figure it all out on his own – that he cannot leave the house, that nothing bad is happening to him and he has relative freedom, that the water is clean and food freaking delicious. But Rhys was as dumb as a literal pumpkin.

“Rhysie, get out,” Jack grunted, trying to shoo the cat-person from under the couch with a broom.

“No, you are a creep and I won’t let you touch me!” Rhys shouted back.

“I’m not a creep; you’re an idiot!” Jack retorted, laying flat on the floor to reach further. How did Rhys even _get there_? Jack only saw a flash of black fur and naked pale skin, and then he was gone.

“You’re making me wear only lace panties!” came a screeched answer from under the couch. “That’s fucking creepy!”

“Gaaargh!” Jack groaned in frustration, a migraine settling in his head. “I’m _not_ making you wear panties! _You_ put on those and ignored the rest of the clothes, deciding to go full hysterics! You’ve got a freaking full wardrobe of clothes!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing the broom away.

Rhys stayed silent for a while (whole three seconds!), and then let out a petulant: “But they were lace panties, and I didn’t like them, so I didn’t look at the rest.”

Jack swears he felt his hair turn grey in that moment.

But after some time, when they all got used to the new and settled, they wouldn’t change it for anything. (The affair that bloomed between Jack and Rhys helped significantly. The fact that as a typical demon spawn Rhys laid golden eggs from time to time made even Wilhelm happy about having him.)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow AUgust:  
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